The Job
by Catherine Medici
Summary: Lizzie wants something useful to do. Red just wants to keep her safe. So he has an idea...


"You want what?" He'd looked up from his paperwork, a bemused expression on his face.

"A job, you know, something to do, to make myself useful. You've been paying for everything and I'm uncomfortable with that."

Hands on her hips, her awkward body language drew attention to the fact that she was indeed, quite uncomfortable. But she'd been the one to bring the subject up.

He tilted his chin up at her quizzically, a smirk transforming his face from that of a tired, overworked man to a gleeful boy.

"I don't exactly offer typical employment. Concerned about your health insurance Lizzie? I'm not the man for that."

He returned to his work, confident that the idea had been dismissed. What was she thinking? He wouldn't let her want for anything. He enjoyed giving her things. These past few months had been stressful to say the least. Getting out of the country had been their primary objective but now they were in a stronger position, he'd been working obsessively, at all hours, to combat the cabal. Good food and wine and nice things were an escape mechanism for him. It was his pleasure to shower gifts on her as well.

She hadn't moved. He looked up again, the slightest hint of irritation around his eyes.

"Lizzie, you are not...my employee." His voice roughened on the last word.

"I know that. So make me one. I can profile, you know what I'm capable of as a thief. There's gotta be some space for me in your organization right?" She arched an eyebrow.

He enjoyed the shape of her eyebrows. Sometimes he had to still his hand from reaching out and smoothing one with his thumb. When she raised her right eyebrow _just so,_ and looked at him that way...well, these weren't the thoughts he should be having about her.

He watched her move around the room aimlessly. Flipping open a magazine that had been sitting on a coffee table, she licked her index finger, her pink tongue flicking from between her lips and turned a page with her moistened finger.

He blinked and ran his tongue across his teeth, swallowing, his mouth dry. This was...exquisite, painful even. Wanting what he couldn't have, shouldn't even be thinking about.

But there it was. More often than not he found his gaze following her around the room when he was in her company. He'd watched the curve of her neck as she reached for a wine bottle on a shelf above her head. He had begun asking her to retrieve things across the room for him just so he could watch her move. The way she moved was so...unique to her. He felt he could watch a crowd of people and be able to spot her miles away just by observing her limbs, the particular economy of movement that was so very Lizzie.

Her eyes wandered from the magazine, meeting his gaze.

"What?"

"You're still here. Is there something else I can do for you?"

"You haven't done the first thing I wanted you to do for me, Red", she'd said in clipped tones. "And I'm not leaving until you give me a job."

So determined, flashing eyes and tilted chin, she looked like a kitten with a ball of yarn. The muscles in his abdomen clenched. She was so...lovely. He was _not_ going to put her in the field. She had proven her lack of judgement...her impulsiveness was far too much of a risk. He needed her to be safe.

Annoyance flared. And then, an idea.

He stood and approached her, smiling.

She took two steps back. He was smiling but somehow managed to convey a faint air of menace. It put her off kilter.

"Alright."

"Alright? You do have something?"

He was smirking now. It was unsettling.

"Yes," he said brightly, slowly circling her like a shark. "An associate is meeting with me in a few days time. He'll be staying here at the hotel."

He was behind her now. She twisted her torso to keep him in her view.

"Okay, and what? You want something from his room? I can do that," she said confidently.

"No, I want him in a good mood. A lot rests on our negotiations. It's important that he is wined and dined, made to feel very important. I need him to feel that his every whim is treated with the greatest priority. Effectively, I want you to seduce him. Think you can do that Lizzie?"

He waited for her furious indignation. None came. Oh, she was struggling with strong emotion alright, but it wasn't indignation or fury.

She looked hurt.

"Is that what you think of me?"

"What?" He'd asked, playing for time, fearing he'd miscalculated badly.

"I'm a criminal profiler, an accomplished thief, good enough to get away with all sorts of things without so much as a fingerprint left behind, and you're saying the only role you have for me is one of a...of a..."

"Businesswoman? You misunderstand me, I have the greatest of respect for the oldest profession. It certainly shouldn't be be taken as a slur, Lizzie. Rather, a confidence in your ability to rise to any occasion."

She'd tilted her head slightly to the side, her jaw jutting out, a familiar idiosyncrasy. Her expression, oh! If he'd been a painter, he'd paint her just as he saw her now.

"Fine."

"Fine?" A thread of nervousness in his voice. They were playing chicken. He didn't intend to be the first to blink.

"Yes, I can try. I'll do my best."

"Your best? This is important, Lizzie. I'd do it myself but somehow I fear his tastes run more to, well, a visage such as yours."

"I'm not in the habit of seducing men I've just met, but I'll do it. What more do you want?"

"Not in the habit? Forgotten Ohama already have we?"

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms defensively. "That wasn't real."

He'd moved to face her, standing even closer than usual. He leaned in almost imperceptibly. She could smell his cologne, like saffron and wood smoke. She felt a jolt in the pit of her stomach. Biting her lip she regarded him challengingly. She wasn't intending to let him see how he had disconcerted her.

"Well then", he said, his voice low and his eyes crinkling with humor. Oh he knew. "Perhaps you'll need a bit of preparation."

"Preparation?" She echoed.

"Yes, Lizzie, preparation." He'd straightened and walked over to the sideboard, pouring himself a scotch. "You'll have dinner with me tonight and we can role play it. You'll need to have some polite conversation prepared, and a...smooth transition to the bed."

Her eyes widened. But this, she could do it. If this was the kind of thing that happened in his world, fine, she wasn't naive. She'd prove she could exist in his world as an equal. And then maybe he'd allow her to take more of a key role in future.

"Dinner then."

"Marvellous," he said with a wide smile, "wear a cocktail dress. We'll be dining here."

He watched her hips sway as she left the room.

Oh dear.

* * *

He'd dimmed the lights in the dining room in his suite and put a record on, playing Beethoven in the background. The first course was under its silver covers on the table.

He waited.

He wasn't waiting long. A soft tap at the door indicated she'd arrived.

"Lizzie dear," he'd exclaimed suavely. "Don't you just look a treat." He took her hand and kissed it softly.

Leading her to the table, he pulled a chair out for her.

"What can I get you to drink?"

"Oh, ah, chardonnay if you have it, please."

He shook his head, frowning. "No, that won't do."

"What?"

"You want to defer to his tastes, tell him you'll have whatever he's drinking."

Her eyes narrowed. "Fine, but why even ask me?"

He smiled devilishly. "Because _he_ will. Its part of the dance, Lizzie. He says one thing, you respond. If you step on his feet, he's not likely to be too receptive to...any other dancing."

She swallowed.

The covers came off. She looked down at her plate. "Oh...oysters," said without any enthusiasm.

"Chilled Beausoleil oysters, Lizzie. They're farmed in floating trays in Miramichi Bay. _Such_ a delicate flavour. Have you eaten oysters before?"

"I've had oysters kilpatrick a couple of times."

He shuddered. "You haven't had oysters until you've eaten Beausoleil oysters. Here, like this," he demonstrated, tipping an oyster into his mouth.

She watched his throat, fascinated as the oyster slipped so easily down.

"Now you try."

She hesitantly picked an oyster up, floating in its shell. Glancing at him doubtfully, she tipped it into her mouth. And swallowed. Or tried to.

Gagging into her napkin, she spluttered and coughed. She swallowed a few mouthfuls of water, glaring at him.

"This isn't seductive, Red. We'll have to choose another entree."

The corners of his mouth quivered with suppressed mirth as he pulled his chair closer to hers.

"No, we'll try again. This time, relax," he instructed. "Imagine honey dripping down your throat," his voice low and hypnotic, he reached for a shell and guided it to her lips with one hand and with the other he lightly brushed her throat with his thumb.

She closed her eyes and parted her lips. He tipped the oyster into her mouth, still stroking her throat lightly. The oyster slipped straight down. She gasped. "I did it!"

He sat back, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Well, aren't you a fast learner." He winked at her.

Her stomach dropped and butterflies rose in its place. What was happening with her? She reached for the glass of champagne he'd poured at the beginning of the meal. She took a steadying gulp. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed him watching her, with something that could only be described as a predatory gleam in his eye.

It thrilled her.

"So," he leaned forward again. "Have you thought of any...polite dinner table conversation?"

She smiled "I wouldn't have thought polite was the angle I'm going for. Titillating maybe?"

"Oh, no. As with so _many_ things, less is more. An innocent gesture, for instance," he said, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, "can be so much more provocative than cruder means of...gaining somebody's attention."

She licked her lips, eyeing him carefully . "So you think I should go for something innocuous? What about music?"

"Perfect, Lizzie. Music is a universal language. What did Beethoven say? Well, a few things but one of them was that music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life. How very apt. See if you can work that in."

She'd made short work of her oysters when she heard a knock on the door. One of the men Lizzie was familiar with as part of their security detail bought in the next course. She'd felt odd being served so formally. There was a kitchen in both their suites so they didn't often eat together, each generally cooking for themselves while Red ordered room service for himself more often than Lizzie did.

They were alone again, the two of them.

Red regarded her thoughtfully. He hadn't expected her to get this far into his little "role play". He'd deliberately goaded her with her choice of drink and she'd been unusually compliant. He'd expected her to call it off at his first challenge, storming out of the room perhaps.

He hadn't known he'd enjoy this quite as much as he was. He was having fun, but he still needed her to back down or this could get...awkward.

He'd have to step up the game.

* * *

She'd had a lovely evening. She didn't often just spend time with him these days. He was always working and didn't ever appear to have a lot of spare time to just talk. They'd talked a lot this evening. He'd shared his love of music, what moved him and why. He'd recounted a funny story or two and she'd basked in the warmth of his expression when he became animated on a topic that he loved. She could watch his lips move all night.

She had wanted so badly to be of some value to him. She hadn't expected this. Tonight, feeling this way. She could still feel his thumb gently at her pulse. She swallowed at the memory of oysters slipping down her throat, coaxed by his touch and hypnotic voice.

"Dance with me Lizzie," he'd demanded huskily, interrupting her thoughts.

He'd taken her hand and led her to the living room. He changed the music and turned back to her, snaking his hand around her waist. Inhaling her scent, he gave an involuntary shiver of delight. Her perfume filled his head. He ran a hand lightly down her arm, noting how her skin was hot to touch.

The music of Peggy Lee's 'Fever' drifted through the room. She felt a flutter of anticipation coiling in her belly. It hadn't felt hot in here before but it did now.

His thumb was tracing gentle circles at the small of her back. He swayed with her, his hips brushing against hers.

Whirling her out, he twisted her around, gently pulling her back in again, her bottom pressed against him, his lips at the curve of her neck.

"R-Red? What are we doing?"

"Dancing, Lizzie", he murmured into her ear. " Why? What are you doing?"

"This doesn't feel like dancing."

Her breath hitched and came shallow and fast as he lazily slid a hand down her side and along her stomach. She felt as though she was burning up, blood pounding in her ears.

"Mmmm? Had any inspiration yet for how you'll do it?"

"Do what?"

"The transition to the bed, Lizzie." He twirled her back around to face him, cupping her ass and grinding his pelvis toward her.

She was trembling. Oh, yes, she was going to blink first.

He smiled.

"I-I think," she panted, disoriented.

He pulled her even closer. "Lizzie," he whispered, "It's quite alright. This job, freely offered, freely taken. If you don't want to..."

"No, Red, I think...I think I'll be just fine."

He frowned into her hair. "So, you've thought about it then? How you'll do it?"

"Well..." she stopped in the middle of the room. "I think, I should..." she trailed off as she tipped her chin up to brush her lips against his.

A bolt of electricity lanced through him. This wasn't the plan.

She advanced on him, backing him into a wall.

"Like this, Red?" Her words spoken against his skin, her breath hot on his face.

His nostrils flared. "Exactly like that," he crooned, lost in the sweetness of her scent, in the softness of her lips.

Her lips brushed his ear. He shuddered against the wall. "Lizzie..." he warned.

"Yes?" She blew into his ear.

Reflexively, his hips jerked. He seized her and spun her around so that she was now against the wall. Instead of loosening his grip at her hips, he tightened it, pressing himself against her, leaning his forehead into hers.

He searched her pretty blue eyes for some hint of what she was thinking. His breathing became unsteady as he took note of the mischief twinkling from them. He pursed his lips, desire and caution struggling for a foothold.

The standoff was just becoming unbearable when she surged forward with a cry of impatience, capturing his mouth. He licked at her lips, tasting the salty brine of the oysters she'd enjoyed earlier. She moaned softly, exploring his mouth with her tongue, running it across his teeth and gently biting his bottom lip.

"Red," she gasped, a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Mmm?"

"Do you think I'm prepared now? For your associate I mean?"

He stilled for a moment then crushed her tighter into his embrace.

"If that man so much as looks at you, I'll shoot him," he growled.


End file.
